


Dancing in the Dark

by KonaKona, Polymathema



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, Age Difference, Bears, Bullying, Child Neglect, Closeted Character, Crime Scenes, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Law Enforcement, Leather Culture, Leather Kink, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonaKona/pseuds/KonaKona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polymathema/pseuds/Polymathema
Summary: Their introduction had been one embroidered with physical affirmations. Officer Graves sitting across from him, strong hand curling around his neck, promising without words he’d take care of him.





	Dancing in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a collection of ficlets surrounding my 80s AU for GraveBone.
> 
> This story was written by my friend polymathema on AO3, I'd like to thank him very much for bringing this story to life!

The bustle and rush of the school day’s end flows around Credence and he loses himself trying to get through the crowded halls. Before, months ago, he would have hidden in his last period class until the corridors were empty and it was easier to get past, without elbows in sensitive ribs and insults not-quite whispered heatedly in his direction. But unlike months ago he had someplace to be on a friday afternoon and his excitement overwrought his self preservation. A few glancing blows later and he’s out of the pack, heart in his throat as he skips two steps at a time going down the old public school’s entryway.   


  
Half way down the block he gets his first envious looks from fellow students and his face burns, feelings twisting him up inside like pride as they see him bee-line for the black Chevy Camaro with it’s beautiful red racing stripe. Officer Graves is leaning against the hood, jeans tight, combat boots crossed at the ankle in front of him and Credence tries not to look at the forearms braced across broad chest in a pose of subtle power. Officer Graves wears the same colour as his car, black, and the little details match the leather seats of the interior. A band across one thick wrist of supple leather that Credence has been brave enough to stroke a handful of times.   
  
When the Officer looks up and spots him Credence knows not by his eyes, he cannot see them through the thick aviator shades that reflect Credence back at himself, but by the bright smile that lights up the man’s face, transforming the Officer into just plain Percy.   
  
By the time Credence manages to cross the road he’s trembling and his giddy happiness overrides the pain of the long week behind him. When the thrum of the engine is beneath him, puddled in the passenger seat, Percy’s fist strong on the stick shift, he can breathe easy.   
  
“How was the math test?”   
  
Except for that, his pulse shoots up a little, he instinctively thinks of Ma’s hand on belt-strap, on the frowns of past teachers, soft sympathetic voices telling him he’s so smart if only he’d just apply himself. “I got a D.” He says, quick, like ripping off a bandage from an infected wound, let it bleed.   
  
Percy grins and gently hits his thigh, Credence feels it like a brand, sinking into him, “That’s an improvement!” No lie, no anger, no disappointment. There is no denying the pride in Percy’s voice and Credence looks at him, the profile of his face as he focuses on the street, and he relaxes again.   
  
“We’re gonna make lasagna for dinner to celebrate.” Percy tells him and by the time they’re finished at the little mom and pop grocer down the street from Percy’s apartment he’s forgotten he was ever nervous about his D at all. Nothing is more important than the hand that keeps guiding him through aisles and stroking a line down his spine. Thick wad of cash flicking green like leaves, more money than Credence thinks he’ll ever make himself.

The money that Percy spends is always at odds to the neighborhood he lives in, as thick in the burroughs as the church Credence has spent his short life in and just as in need of updating. The other tenants of the apartment building are varied and the old woman who lives down the hall from them waves, leaning on her broom as she always does. Credence smiles, or maybe he never stopped smiling since Percy’s approval in the car, and he waves back.  
  
They work together in the too small kitchen with elbows knockin hip to hip. Percy pushes him up against a cabinet as Credence mixes ricotta and mozzarella with eggs to make the filling, and he almost spills the whole cheese mixture on himself. Percy laughs, his whole body burning heat and a wall of soft strength masculine and yet gentle, and Credence has nowhere to go between the man up against him and the counter, not that he wants to. Trembling a little, his hand shaking on the handle of the old wooden spoon. Percy draws back with the baking dish that lives on the top of the old shelves, pauses to peck a kiss to Credence’s forehead.   
  
“Sorry about that little lamb.” Percy does it again though, presses Credence or manhandles him around each time he needs something that he could just get Credence to hand him and by far Credence prefers it this way.   
  
When the lasagna is set to bake they spread out on the carpet in the living room and Percy sets up the record player. “I think you’ll like this one, I picked it up on Monday.” Percy speaks over the sound of the vinyl beginning to spin. It’s a moot point, Credence likes everything Percy plays for him.   
  
A man’s smooth voice serenades them and Credence closes his eyes and stretches out on the old carpet, head tilted back, lets himself fall away into the rhythm. Arms above his head he doesn’t realize his ringer tee has dragged up till Percy’s hand is against his bare skin, drawing slow up the pale of his stomach. With measured breath, only hitching once, Credence unfurls a little bit more, back arching to put more flesh into Percy’s grip. A chuckle from above him and it’s just intoxicating physicality as the album plays out.   
  
“Like it?”   
  
“Oh yes,” Credence whispers and he doesn’t entirely mean the music, “It’s lovely.”   
  
Percy is like this, has always been like this, from the very first of it, when Credence was lost in his own terror and the trouble he’d gotten into. Their introduction had been one embroidered with physical affirmations. Officer Graves sitting across from him, strong hand curling around his neck, promising without words he’d take care of him.   
  
Officer Graves had been there every step of the way, stood on his right in the courtroom when Ma couldn’t make it, drove him to his juvenile probation officer every monday morning before school and then he’d signed up to mentor Credence and help him with his community service hours.

He is lost to memory, to the music, when softly callused fingertips dig into the bones of his exposed ribs, and the laughter pulls out of him with a violence. He writhes around on the carpet, trying to get away from clever strong hands, and when he almost succeeds his progress is halted by heavy weight pinning him down to the ground with gentle pressure. The hands bring him no reprieve until finally they drag, hold, a different kind of pressure to accompany the weight of the man atop him, keeping him still, pressing in a slow gradual drag, an increase like tide coming in, his ribs old pilons of a rickety pier.   
  
The relief of Percy’s hands, his weight on Credence, is just as much a balm as water on parched wood, he is starved for it. Percy laughs and he feels it all the way through his body, a rumble like thunder far away but it settles in his chest and heals him like the song playing around them speaks of, he understands what the lyrics mean intimately, feels it settle into his bones.   
  
Percy laughs again, beard rubbing soft against Credence’s neck and it sends a rush through him, one hand drawing up to drag against his neck, to hold him in place, thumb a building press against the tightened tendon stretching neck to spine. Credence is held, bound in place, and the tension in him bleeds out like watercolour paint, watered out, spreading to the edges, he puddles into the carpet with a thick groan.   
  
“I got you kitten, you’re safe here.” Percy tells him but Credence doesn’t need the words, it’s branded all over him, Percy’s soft heat, the bristle of hair against his exposed skin, the scent of his cologne and supple leather.   
  
They lay like that till the oven timer goes off and Credence indulges in laziness, stretches out still on the floor while Percy plates up dinner. They eat off their laps and Percy puts the b-side of the record on, lets it play through.   
  
He eats way too much and when it’s time for his bath he pretends like he can’t move, his ploy works and Percy laughs, scoops him up, Credence’s legs wrapped around soft stomach and broad hips. He tries to keep from shaking, from falling apart. Percy is so much heat, so much soft affection, so much everything and when they are in the bathroom Credence clings.   
  
“Let go now baby boy.” Percy tries to sit him on the edge of the tub, hand fiddling with the taps.   
  
“No.” Credence murmurs, hides his smile against Percy’s black t-shirt when the rumble of the man’s laughter fills him up.   
  
“Oh, you want me to take a bath with you?”   
  
There is the build of panic, so much skin, so much soft flesh, so much bristly hair against him, he lets go, hands shaking, breath coming quick. Yes, yes he does, Percy gentles his face between his hands, one dry, one wet from the bath water.   
  
“You’re okay, shh.” Percy peppers his face with gentle kisses, and the mess of emotions silences under sweet affection, soft words.

  
“I do.” Credence manages, soft, his hands shake on the button of his own jeans and Percy pauses them there, hands over his, holds him steady and careful. He looks up at Credence, moves to kneel on the bathroom floor before him where he is now perched delicately on the edge of the tub.   
  
“Are you ready for that?”   
  
Credence is angry, at himself mostly, because the answer is no, and yet he wants to do this, and it would have been easier to deal with the fallout later than to ask for this again. He trusts Percy and what was bathing together in the greater scheme of things? He has to shower after gym at school, and he knows Percy goes to bath houses near the YMCA. His face is red, humiliated, and he looks down, but Percy collects his chin in gentling grip and pulls him back to look at him, soft smile and warm eyes.   
  
“How about I wash your hair for you? It’s getting longer without that harpy butchering it every month.”   
  
It’s a compromise and one that Credence accepts. When he is submerged beneath decadently hot water and a thick layer of bubbles Percy comes back into the bathroom to wash his hair.   
  
He’s right too, it’s gotten longer since Percy had words with Ma about Credence’s self possession. He’s not sure what exactly those words were, but he suspects Ma isn’t going to win the fight she’s looking for with her sunday sermons against local law enforcement.   
  
He tilts his head back obediently and moves it side to side as Percy necessitates him to, and he keeps his eyes closed against the shampoo and conditioner until Percy pecks a kiss to his lips and forces them open in surprise. His smile and eyes are still warm and he helps Credence get out of the tub, lanky legs and big plush towel.   
  
The bed in the office is already made up from it’s usual state as a futon sofa and Credence groans to crawl into the thick old quilts and plush mattress topper. The pillows smell like the lavender satchel Percy keeps in the linens closet and it’s lovely, comforting. Everything feels soft against fresh clean skin and the fatigue of the prior week drags him down.   
  
“Got you a new kind of cereal to try, it has little rainbow marshmallows in it, like that patch I got for your jacket.” Percy is brushing his hair back away from his face, the light dim against the dark wood paneled walls.   
  
Credence hums some soft sound, moves to let his cheek pillow on Percy’s thigh, rough jean fabric beneath him, scent of woodsmoke and leather. It’s good just to be close, just to touch.   
  
“What a sweet kitten, tired?” Percy’s hand keeps stroking, and Credence makes another sound but the words are vague to him and they fade compared to the heat and impression of the hand against him. That’s what matters most right now, the scent of safety, the hand cosseting him. This is all that matters, and he falls to sleep surrounded by it, surrounded by Percy.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to check out some art or more ideas for this AU, you can find it here: [80s AU Art](http://quenoeslomismo.tumblr.com/tagged/80s-au)
> 
> Here you can find a Moodboard: [Moodboard](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f9cbbff401de296deb0a289433c022df/tumblr_p24pdodnLH1u7mi9qo1_1280.jpg)


End file.
